Saturday Shakedown
by prettypinklips
Summary: Where's the Hallmark card for Sorry The Zombies Got Your Mom? -— damon/caroline, elena/elijah, stefan/rebekah, kol/bonnie, j/t/m brotp.
1. Chapter 1

**Saturday Shakedown**

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_(a zombie memoir, or how Damon Salvatore discovered that he is, in fact, the worlds greatest zombie slayer ever.)_

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_—_

The world ends on a Saturday.

Which is entirely not fair in the context of things. Perhaps it's God's big _fuck you, Damon, get off your lazy ass, turn of those cartoons, and get a job._ But _no_ God, he will _not_ get off his lazy ass, because _hello,_ somebody has to watch Bugs Bunny pull a fast one on Elmer Fudd. And besides, he's a high school senior and what self-respecting high school senior _wants_ to skip over Saturday morning cartoons to get a job? Plus, he's not even religious so God can suck a fat one and leave him alone.

But anyway.

The world.

It gets fucked on a Saturday in September (on the upside it's a weekend, but that's really the _only_ upside. But forgive him for wanting to cherish the little things. It's like nobody has seen _Zombieland_.), but the day starts out relatively normal. He gets up, pours himself some Lucky Charms, and plops his ass down onto the couch in front of his flat-screen.

Bugs Bunny in Drag is in the middle of a date with Elmer Fudd when he hears it.

It's loud, a banging, and he figures it's his little brother Stefan snoring like a furious dragon and kicking his feet against the wall or something, so he ignores it and laughs at Elmer Fudd. He goes back to his cereal and the TV, ignoring his brother and his peculiar sleeping habits. Only when the banging continues does he think that, hey, maybe it's _not_ his brother. He sloppily slurps the milk from his cereal bowl and dumps it into the sink before following the source of the noise. It's not leading upstairs, which means it couldn't be his brother. As he walks by the steps, he hears his brother's snoring, and it's nothing like the banging he's hearing. He passes the TV and turns it off, and the noise gets louder.

Damon runs his tongue over his teeth, approaching the front window. The curtains sway and shake, and the banging grows louder, as if somebody is knocking on the window. And, well, _knocking_ isn't the right word. It's like somebody is trying to shove themselves through the window via their head. (Which should have been the first sign that something was seriously wrong.) He grips the edge of the curtain before whipping it aside.

His mouth falls open, and he takes a step back in shock. The mailman, Jim, is banging his head against the window. "What the hell are you doing, man?" he cries, banging his fist on the window, "If you break this window, so help me God—" Jim growls, banging his head harder against the glass. On impact, his skin splits and blood drips down the window. Damon jumps back, a sharp curse escaping his lips. Jim keeps fighting against the window, teeth snapping. His teeth are sharp and his gums are filled with...chunks of _something. _He prays it's hamburger meat clinging to his incisors, but he knows it's not. Fighting down a bout of nausea, he steps forward and looks over Jim's shoulder.

His street is on _fire. _Flames lick at the base of the house across from his, and a women runs out, arms waving in terror. Her husband—no, it couldn't be her husband, because _the thing _is trying to _eat_ her—chases after her, jaws snapping, skin a dull grey.

It clicks when her husband catches up to her and tackles her to the ground, teeth digging into her skin. She screams and screams, but the others on the street are too busy battling their own attackers to notice. "Are you _fucking kidding me?_" he cries, mostly in agitation that no, he's not going to be able to finish his Saturday morning cartoons. "Damn it all." he mutters, pulling down the collar of his shirt, scratching at his neck.

Zombie Jim bares his teeth at the sudden expanse of flesh he's revealing, "Keep dreaming, Jimmy." he growls, "You're not getting a piece of this. And I'm _so_ not tipping you." he makes a disgusted face as Jim smears blood all across the window. He flicks the curtains closed, turns, and calmly moves towards the stairs to wake up his brother.

The thing is, he's not scared. Not really. He's been preparing for this day since he'd stolen a copy of _Night of the Living Dead _from the movie store when he was eleven. His closet is stocked full of aluminum baseball bats, a copy of the _Zombie Survival Guide, _and an array of things needed for this type of venture. He kicks the door to Stefan's room open, ignoring the screams and the banging from downstairs. Stefan's head is stuffed under a pillow, and Damon whips the curtains open, letting the faint sunlight fall onto his brother.

"Go 'way," Stefan mumbles.

Damon smirks, "Not a chance, baby brother. We've to get a move on."

Stefan's head pokes out from under his pillow, hair mussed, "Where are we going?" he grumbles, eyes bleary.

"Remember when we were discussing possible endings of the world and you thought it would be the national power grid shutting down?" Damon asks, thumbing through Stefan's dresser. He tosses a pair of jeans and a t-shirt at his brother before going back to the window, peering down at the street below.

Stefan's eyebrows shoot up, "...Yeah?"

"Turns out I was right and you were wrong," he says gleefully, perhaps too gleefully for the given situation. Jim, it seems, has given up on getting into their house, and Damon watches him chase an elderly woman down the street, smiling widely. He turns back to his brother, shit-eating grin plastered across his face, "Come on, dude, we've got zombies to kill and places to be."

—

Elena Gilbert has always prided herself on being level-headed, but it's kind of hard when your neighbor is trying to eat you.

She scrambles away from her elderly-neighbor-gone-bad, whacks at him with the newspaper she's holding, and runs for her front door. She clutches her bathrobe tighter to her, jiggles the doorknob, and realizes Jeremy hasn't fixed the door—hadn't she told him to do that yesterday? Now she was going to die and it was going to be all his fault!—a second too late. "Crap!" she cries, flinging her arms up as the zombie (seriously, she can't even believe she's thinking the word 'zombie'. This isn't a George Romaro movie.) advances on her, teeth snapping, grey skin looming closer. She closes her eyes, lifting the collar of her bathrobe over her face.

The bite she's waiting for never comes, and when she looks up, she meets the eyes of her neighbor, Mr. Mikaelson. He stands over the zombie, brandishing a fire-poker. The zombie groans, face pressed into the ground. Mr. Mikaelson looks roughly the same as always, suit polished and prim, hair gelled to perfection. The only thing out of the ordinary is the light spatter of blood drops dotting his face. "Mr. Mikaelson?" Elena gasps. He smiles, and fuck her if it's not the prettiest smile she's ever seen.

"Call me Elijah, dear." he says pleasantly, examining her bunny slippers and fuzzy pink bathrobe with interest. The body of the zombie lying on the ground between them lets out a sharp gurgle, and without breaking a sweat or wincing, Mr. Mikael—_Elijah_ brings his fire-poker down, shoving the sharp end through the zombie's eye. The zombie's blood coats his shoes, but he doesn't seem too bothered by that. He casts a calm glance down the street, sees a few more zombies coming their way, and gestures to her door, "Shall we, Ms. Gilbert?"

Elena's mouth falls open, "Um, the—the door." she stutters, and without a word, Elijah steps over his zombie kill, whips his poker out of the zombie's eye, and with a sharp shove, Elijah gets her door open and ushers her inside.

"Do you have any tea? I'm a bit parched." he asks, shutting the door behind them both.

—

Matt's declaration of, "Zombies, dude, fucking zombies." has Jeremy raising an eyebrow as the blonde crashes through the Grille's door. He falls to his knees, palms braced on the floor, gasping for breath. Jeremy stares down at his blonde head, shakes his own, and goes back to cleaning glasses. Matt gasps something unintelligible, and Jeremy rolls his eyes.

He finishes drying off the glass he's holding, and asks, "Did you and Tyler have a twenty four hour Black Ops marathon again?"

Matt looks up, gasps, says, "_No, dude._ Fucking _zombies._ Real ones. My neighbor—she fucking..._holy shit._" he jumps up, crossing the empty Grille, grasping Jeremy by the shoulders. He shakes him lightly, "She _tried to eat me, _man."

"Is this another one of your stupid I'm-too-good-looking-for-anyone's-good jokes? Because those are seriously—"

The Grille's doors crash open once again and Matt yelps, diving behind the counter. Jeremy rolls his eyes for the fiftieth time since Matt had shown up, picks up his pad and pen, and goes to serve his first customer of the day. The woman staggers towards him, hands stretched out. "Would you like to hear our specials—_holy fucking shit!_"_  
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Her eyes are pitch black, veins around her eyes bulging, teeth snapping. She reaches out towards him, and he freezes, and he thinks, hey, maybe Matt's not so crazy after all. Before he can run, the zombie stops moving, and blood spatters across Jeremy's face.

("Ew." Matt chimes in, popping up from behind the counter.)

The zombie falls to the ground, and Jeremy wipes the blood from his face with his apron, hands shaking. Tyler Lockwood comes forward, kicks the zombie out of the way, and wipes his bloody bat on Jeremy's employee shirt. "Zombies, man." Tyler says, swinging his bat onto his shoulder, completely serene, "Fucking _zombies._"

—

Caroline Forbes blinks in rapid succession, tilting her head to the side, "I don't know, Bon, it's kind of artistic." she says, hand that's not holding her bloody ax falling to her hip.

Bonnie gives her a sidelong glance, "Um, excuse me, did I wake up in the _Twilight Zone_? How is a set of pre-shoolers eating their teacher artistic?"

Caroline gives Bonnie her biggest smile, "They're fighting the system, man." she says, hefting her ax onto her shoulder. She marches forward, dispatching the pre-schoolers and their teacher with a few precise swings. She jumps back up after wiping the blood off of her bare calves, smooths down her cheer skirt, and turns to her friend, smile bright and obnoxious. Caroline's always been a morning person, but Bonnie thinks this is a little ridiculous. She'd just killed a gaggle of six year olds, for God's sake.

"You're scary good that this," Bonnie says, examining the bodies, trying not to let her disgust show. "I'm impressed." and she is, she's cool with it as long as she doesn't have to heft around an ax and bash little girls faces in. She glances up at Caroline, who grins back. The blonde turns to survey the park.

"We should get out of here." Caroline says, "Hole up somewhere safe until the military shows up."

"_If_ the—"

Caroline whips around, slapping a hand over Bonnie's mouth, "Nuh-uh, what did I say about being a Negative Nancy?" she asks as a biker rides past them, three zombies in tow. The biker crashes to the ground, and the blonde doesn't blink as he starts screaming, zombies tearing into his flesh, ripping open his stomach and slurping up his organs like it's her mom's Sunday night spaghetti. She lifts an eyebrow, waiting for her best friend's answer.

Bonnie mumbles something that sounds like, "Tofu." and Caroline drops her hand.

"Can you repeat that?" she asks.

"To not to." Bonnie sighs.

Caroline smiles, chipper as ever, and grabs her hand, "Come on! Let's go to the Salvatores. Damon told me they've got a bomb shelter for a basement. We can stay there until this blows over."

Bonnie raises an eyebrow, glares at the zombies munching on the biker as they pass, and says, "You mean, let's-go-there-so-Damon-and-I-can-have-loud-zoo-animal-sex while Stefan and I cower in the basement?"

Caroline beams at her, "Technicalities." she singsongs, letting Bonnie's hand go and swinging her axe into a zombie-fied soccer mom's face, all the while smiling like a kindergartner on Christmas.

—

**tbc**

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**notes:** yeah so this is for sure not as serious as cdiw, and i wanted it to be that way because i have a zombie fetish and i needed more daroline zombie love in my life but i can't update cdiw because i have NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT IN THAT STORY UGH I'M STUCK. and i also wrote this because the influx of delena fics coming in after last thursday's ep is pissing me off asdfghjkl. anyway, i hope you enoy this snarky rendition of vampire diaries meets zombieland.

**even moooore notes:** this fic focuses on damon/caroline, elena/elijah, jeremy/tyler/matt brotp, with stefan/rebekah, kol/bonnie aside.

love me xox


	2. Chapter 2

**Saturday Shakedown**

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_(A zombie memoir, or how Elena Gilbert mentally lost her virginity to her next-door neighbor.)_

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—

"You have _got _to be kidding me." Stefan chokes out, watching Jim bite into the woman he'd been chasing for the last five minutes. "Zombies? _Seriously?_" Jim spits out what looks like the small intestine, mangled and bloody, and digs his grimy fingers into the woman's ripped open stomach. A loud moan escapes his bloody lips and the sound can be heard through Stefan's closed window, one story up. Stefan grimaces, looks away, and turns to Damon. His brother doesn't take his eyes away from Jim and the surely dead woman. He's got their father's hunting rifle in his hands, and he reaches forward, popping open the window.

"Sorry Jim," Damon mutters, digging a hole in the screen and shoving the face of the gun through.

Stefan swallows roughly and steps back from the window. He's always been squeamish when it comes to blood and killing, while Damon had never had an issue with it. He'd gone hunting every Saturday with their dad until his death, he'd put their cat Spot out of his misery when he'd got hit by a car, he'd even carried Stefan a mile to their house when he'd fallen in the woods, snapping his ankle, the bone jutting out of the skin. He—

Damon squeezes the trigger, and there's a shot.

Stefan flinches, trying not to imagine the coffee and donuts he'd given Jim yesterday. They'd talked about the weather and how great Stefan was doing in school. "It had to be done." Damon says from behind him, hand coming up to clasp shoulder. Stefan turns back around, and catches Damon's easy shrug. He hefts the gun over his shoulder, and says, "No use crying over spilled milk." cheerfully.

Stefan blanches, but takes the pack bag Damon hands him and slings it over his shoulder. He may not know much about zombies, but he knows Damon, and his brother will do anything in his power to keep him safe. He bites his lip nervously as Damon fiddles with the gun absentmindedly, muttering something about blood making the metal rust. He refrains from rolling his eyes, and asks, "Where are we going anyway? Wouldn't it be safer to stay here in the—"

Damon swiftly interrupts, "We're going to the Grille, and I can't believe I'm saying this because you know how much I hate people, because there's safety in numbers."

Stefan purses his lips, and thinks of slapping the crap out of his brother because _hello, _he's supposed to be the zombie _king._ Does he not know that every zombie movie ends with a group of survivors banding together and sticking it out in one location until they meet their untimely bloody gruesome disgusting gross ew-ish cringe-worthy zombie-fied death?

Sometimes Stefan thinks he's the only smart one.

He doesn't say anything, however, because Damon's holding a gun and he's just shot their mailman. "Okay then," Stefan sighs, because if he's going to suffer death-by-zombie, he might as well do it thoroughly and take a few with him as he goes.

Damon beams, entirely too cheerful for the given situation, and claps him on the shoulder, "That's the spirit. And besides, the Grille has the best fries and I'm craving something salty."

—

Elena gulps as the sound of fists beating against her front door reaches her ears. She curls her bathrobe tighter around herself, waits for the tea to boil over, and watches Mr. Mikael—_Elijah _with calculating eyes. His back is turned to her, watching the living room. He seems relaxed, even non-chalant. She's glad for his company, but how long are they really going to last—

"_Relax,_ Ms. Gilbert." Elijah interjects smoothly, turning to her, clasping his hands behind his back, "I can hear you panicking from here."

Elena's mouth falls open, and she does her best fish impersonation for a moment or two or four. His eyebrows rise curiously (and maybe in amusement), and she pulls herself together long enough to choke out, "But they're—they're _beating on my door. _How am I supposed to _relax?_"

Elijah doesn't seem the least bit perplexed by this as he comes forward, pulling the kettle off of the stove just as it starts to wail. Elena squeezes herself against the counter, but it's no use. His arm brushes her chest, and he doesn't seem to notice as she turns tomato red, blushing all the way down to the valley between her breasts. "I'll protect you, Ms. Gilbert." he tells her, pouring the tea into two separate coffee cups. "You have nothing to fear as long as I am here."

Elena takes the coffee cup he hands her, lets the warmth roll through her body, lets the smell clear her sinuses. Elijah gives her a tiny smile before sipping at his own tea. The banging grows louder, and she sets the cup down, wringing her hands together.

"I don't want to die." she admits meekly.

Elijah blinks at her before turning to the living room once more, calculating expression on his face. "And you won't." he promises, picking up his fire poker once more. he brushes past her, murmurs something about her changing out of her bathrobe, and strides towards the front door.

And before she can stop him from committing suicide-by-zombie, he's swinging the door open and brandishing his fire poker like Thor brandishing his hammer.

_God help me, _she thinks, because she's so turned on right now.

—

Jeremy's hands fist in his hair, and he tugs on it, spinning in a circle. He's got the bad habit of overreacting, and he does this exact dance of sorts whenever he loses a match on Call of Duty, but right now? _So. Not. Overreacting._

"That _thing_ almost _ate me!_" Jeremy cries, staring at Tyler, mouth gaping open.

("I _told_ you!" Matt shouts from behind the counter, still cowering with his hands over his head.)

"Relax." Tyler soothes absently, dropping his bat to the floor. He sinks down, turns the zombie over and prods at it with his finger. The zombie's head is dented in, showing the surprising amount of force Tyler was able to shove into his swing. _Swing away, Merrill. _Jeremy thinks wryly. The woman's neck is torn into shreds, something Jeremy hadn't noticed before.

"Is..." Jeremy swallows, "Is that a bite wound?"

Tyler looks up at him, "It's several bite wounds." he stands slowly, kicks the body away, and runs a bloody hand through his hair.

Matt rises from behind the counter, approaches them, and asks, "What now?"

Jeremy looks around, takes in the Grille's glass windows and open doors, and says, "We've got to board everything up. I'm not taking any chances."

Tyler and Matt both nod, and in the back of his mind, Jeremy prays that his sister, home alone in her pink bathrobe and bunny slippers, is okay.

—

"I'm putting my life in your hands right now." Stefan states, and he really can't believe he's doing so. _Am I an idiot? _he wonders briefly, watching his brother bounce on the balls of his feet in excitement. The door lays before them, and they can hear the sounds of the un-dead's all-you-can-eat neighbor buffet outside. Stefan blows out a breath of air, sucks it back in, and prays he won't blow chunks all over the first zombie he sees.

That would be counterproductive. Death by vomit.

Damon grins gleefully, "Might wanna rethink that, mate." he quips before kicking the front door open.

Stefan shakes his head as the sharp smell of death instantly reaches his nose, and he rears back to get further into the house, but Damon grabs his shoulder and shoves him outside.

Into Zombieland.

—

**notes: **wow, i'm super shocked. i was totally not expecting such a positive response to this story. i'm really glad you guys like it. bonus points if you can find the _signs _quote in here. anyway, this isn't a really serious story, so don't expect any life changing chapters or long-winded ones. 2k is probably going to be the max words per section.

**next up: **caroline breaks a nail, bonnie saves her crush from an untimely death, and damon discovers the power of double tap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Saturday Shakedown**

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_(A zombie memoir, in which Stefan Salvatore discovers that he digs gun-wielding women.)_

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—

"Oh my god! _My nail!_" Caroline's eyes widen, the ax falls from her hands, and she splays her fingers out in front of her while Bonnie grunts and smashes an already bloody rock into the head of the zombie that's snapping its teeth at her. Bonnie drops the rock, kicks the body of the zombie away, and reaches out, grabbing Caroline's arm with one hand and picking up the ax with the other. She shoves the ax into Caroline's hand.

"Oh my _god,_" she snarls, dragging the blonde away from the mass of zombies limping/walking/crawling towards them, "worry about your nails later!" she shoves through the trees, angry at the once beautiful park for ruining her line of sight. It would be just their luck that a hidden mob of zombies would come out of treeline—

"I spent _four hours _doing my nails last night and you expect me to just—" Caroline stops suddenly, eyes widening as she stares over Bonnie's shoulder. "Bon?" she whispers, going rigid. Bonnie sees the dread filling her friend's eyes, and stiffens. Caroline's hands tighten around her ax, and she swallows roughly, jerking her chin in a motion that tells Bonnie to turn around.

She does, and her mouth falls open, and she swears her entire life flashes before her eyes in that moment, "I think we've got bigger problems to worry about than broken nails." she whispers.

—

Elena lays her head against the cool tile of the shower floor. The hot water rushes over her, and she savors every bit of that warmth because she's seen Jeremy's zombie movies and showers are always the first things to go. She doesn't know how she's going to make it without her shampoo and loofah and conditioner and vanilla scented bath lotion and her baby oil. She closes her eyes, curls into herself, and lets the water run cold.

The minutes pass in silence, and even though she knows Elijah is standing guard right outside of the door, she pretends she's just waking up on a perfect Saturday morning, getting ready for her day, and that she's going to get out of the shower and dry her hair and brush it until her scalp hurts and then she's going to put on makeup and then she's going to pick out the perfect outfit and then she's going to meet Bonnie and Caroline at the Grille when she takes Jeremy his lunch.

Only she's not going to. She's going to get up, throw her hair into a ponytail, put on a practical pair of jeans and her comfiest shirt (God, she's not even going to wear her favorite lacy bra. She's going to wear a _sports bra._), and she's going to go with Elijah to find his siblings.

Before she has more time to mourn the loss of everything she knew before this morning, the water turns freezing and she jumps up quickly, running some shampoo through her hair (quite possibly for the last time) once more. She turns the water off, wraps a towel around herself, and steps out of the shower.

She spends five minutes more in the bathroom, the shortest time she's ever spent in there, and opens the door to find Elijah leaning on the wall opposite the bathroom door. "Finished, Ms. Gilbert?" he questions, hands clasped behind his back. He's removed his suit jacket and tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt to his elbows.

Elena licks at her lips and pulls her eyes away from his impressive arms, "Yeah, just..just give me a second to get some things in order."

Pity flashes across his face before he masks it, and he nods, "Certainly." he says graciously.

—

Tyler tiredly rubs a hand over his face before reaching out to grab another chair. He snaps the chair into pieces easily before tossing them to Matt and moving on to the table. Behind him, he hears Matt nail the pieces of wood across the windows. He surveys the area before him, knows they don't have enough chairs or tables, and turns to Jeremy.

Jeremy's biting his nails, and Tyler slaps at his hands, "Dude, what did I tell you? That's a bad habit, and also totally gross." he wrinkles his nose, and leans in close to the younger Gilbert and whispers so Matt can't hear, "These flimsy boards aren't gonna hold against those animals out there. We gotta tear up floorboards and—"

"No!" Jeremy cries, eyes widening in horror, "We can't do that! I could get fired!"

Matt stops what he's doing, and his hammer falls to the floor. He crosses the space between the three of them so fast that Tyler does a triple take. "Dude," he starts, grasping Jeremy's shoulder, "we _gotta_ do this. Our _lives _are at stake. I'm not the smartest guy ever and all I've got going for me is football but..." he swallows, "but you guys are my bros and I'm not going to let anything happen to either of you." he gives Jeremy a little shake before letting him go, "So, _dammit, _if I say we pull up the floorboards to tack across the windows you say 'yes, sir, how many boards, sir?' Got it?"

Jeremy raises his eyebrows, and Tyler's mouth falls open. "Dude?" Tyler questions.

Matt swallows, looks between the two of them, and shrugs sheepishly. "Sorry," he grins, "I got a little too into the moment."

"Yes, sir," Jeremy jokingly agrees, and Tyler snorts. "Still...Matt's right. Let's do this."

—

"Ew," Stefan whines, sidestepping a landlord eating his tenant on the sidewalk.

"Just keep walking." Damon says, guiding his brother forward.

From his left, a scantily clad woman wearing yoga pants and a sports bra comes at him, mouth gaping, one eye missing, the other gazing somewhere over his left shoulder, and he raises his arm, blocking her. With his other hand, he takes the wooden bat hanging out of Stefan's backpack and whacks the zombie across the face with it. She goes down, keening and squirming. He hands the bloody bat back to Stefan and nudges the zombie with his foot.

Stefan takes the bat after pulling his sleeve down to cover his hand. His nose wrinkles and he wipes the bat on the back of Damon's leather jacket before shoving it back into his bag.

"I think I had sex with her last week." Damon says, examining the fallen zombie's body.

"Are you seriously checking out the body of a zombie—"

"C'mon, look at her, she's got a great set of—"

"You are _so_—"

While the brothers are bickering, a feminine figure approaches them from behind. The zombie Damon had smashed a few seconds before slowly rises to her feet, staggering towards them as Damon and Stefan get in each others faces. The blonde coming towards them appraises them, appraises the zombie, and rolls her eyes. "Boys," she mutters to herself before pulling her Colt from the waistband of her tight designer jeans and blowing the zombie away before it can sink its teeth into Stefan's jugular.

The zombie falls to the ground, bullet between its eyes, and the brothers turn in synchronization towards her, mouths falling open.

Rebekah Mikaelson flicks a strand of perfectly highlighted blonde hair out of her eyes, lowers the gun, smirks at Damon and makes a kissy face at Stefan. "Double tap, Damon." she says patronizingly, "Haven't you ever seen _Zombieland_?"

Damon grits his teeth, considers shooting her.

Stefan grins, considering ravishing her.

—

"What are we going to do?" Caroline asks, eyeing the hundreds of zombies making their way up the hill towards them. One is getting dangerously close, so close Caroline can smell the cheap perfume wafting off of its body. She wrinkles her nose, "You know, I never understood how women could shop at Wal-mart for perfume and expect me to not judge—"

"We run!" Bonnie cries, interrupting her and answering her previous question at the same time. She grabs Caroline's hand, yanks her away from the oncoming hoard.

"They're everywhere!" Caroline cries, taking a wild swing at a zombie that comes at her from the trees.

"Just keep going!" Bonnie shouts back, ducking under the arm of a zombie reaching out towards her. Caroline's hand slips from her own, but she can still hear the sound of her friend's feet crunching on the ground, so she keeps going. After a moment, she turns around, "Caroline?" she whispers, panicking.

Because Caroline is gone.

_No no no we weren't supposed to lose each other. No no no. _

Bonnie freezes, turns in circle, calling her name, "Caroline?" she screams, and then—

There's the loud roar of a truck coming from behind her. The truck slides through the treeline from the street, smashing through zombies as it comes towards her. She waves her arm, calling for help. The truck comes to a harsh stop in front of her, and the window rolls down. Bonnie runs forward, grasping the door handle.

When the window is rolled down, she shakes her head, "_Are you fucking kidding me?_" she cries, glaring at the driver. Of all the people that could come to her rescue, it had to be him.

"Get in, pretty thing." Kol Mikaelson says, flashing Bonnie a smile, "Unless, of course, you want to die."

—

A hundred feet away, Caroline hears the roar of a truck disappearing down the street, and knows she's alone.

Darkness slowly falls, tucking the sun away, and she hears _and_ feels the dead around her, searching for a meal. She swallows, feels tears prick at her eyes, and tries not to be angry at Bonnie for leaving her, but fails. She sniffs back a few tears, tucks her ax into the waistband of her cheer skirt, grits her teeth, and reaches out, grasping the lowest branch of the tree.

She swings herself up and starts to climb.

—

**tbc.**

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**notes:** omg okay 71 reviews for two chapters. you guys are spoiling me but do continue. i've brushed up on black ops, left 4 dead, resident evil, dawn of the dead, and night of the living dead to write this so bazinga.

**next up: **i lied bonnie didn't save her crush from an untimely zombie-fied death this chapter. maybe next time. also, idk what's happening next 'cause i just wing it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Saturday Shakedown**

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_(A zombie memoir, in which Caroline breaks a bone, but does a badass walk to the Grille anyway.)_

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—

Morning comes slower than she would have liked it to.

Caroline blinks against the harsh sunlight filtering through the trees branches, and she peels herself away from the trunk she'd held onto all night. She's stuck her ax into the trunk and now she pulls it free, holding it tightly. She looks down, surveying the area. She still can't believe that Bonnie had left her to fend or herself in a _zombie apocalypse._ She grits her teeth in anger. She's _so_ not giving Bonnie a friendship bracelet for her next birthday.

The coast looks clear, and Caroline begins the trek down the tree. Realistically, she really should have known better, because as soon as she jumped from the lowest branch of the tree, she felt the snap in her ankle. "_Ow!_" she squeals, falling over. She clutches at her ankle, and almost passes out as she sees the bone sticking out of her skin. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god." she chants, hands waving frantically over the wound.

She looks around, hair whipping wildly around her face. Is that a zombie in the shadows? Had any of them heard her cry of pain? "Damn it." she mutters, scooting back against the tree. Her ankle's as good as broken, and she'd skipped health class since she'd started high school, so she has no idea how to set the bone or how to go about wrapping her ankle. She leans her head back against the tree trunk, holding her ax tightly. She knows she's got to get moving, and the Salvatore house is too far. She won't be able to make it on a broken ankle. She sucks in a harsh breath as she jostles her ankle, shakily rising to her feet. She leans against the trunk, balancing on one leg.

The closest secure building she can think of is the Mystic Grille.

Elena's brother works there, and he'd been interning over the summer under some doctor named Meredith. She hopes he'd learned how to set a bone.

Caroline sucks in one more deep breath, pushes herself off of the tree trunk, and starts a slow limp/walk to the Mystic Grille, ax secure in her hand.

—

Elena grasps Elijah's elbow, moving closer to him. The morning air smells stale, and she hates it. It smells like death and fear. Elijah walks ahead, footsteps light and quiet while she clops behind him like a horse. She takes a moment to look back at her house, tall and bold against the growing sunlight. She doesn't know if she'll ever see this place again. She doesn't know if she'll even live to see another day again.

She looks back, sees Elijah getting farther and farther away, and races after him. "Where are we going?" she asks, catching up to him. The streets are quiet as she casts a look around, and she lets out a sigh of relief. She's not looking forward to seeing another one of the monsters. She's thankful for Elijah, and his ease with taking down the dead, er, _un_-dead.

"I need to find my younger siblings." he tells her, glancing at her, "My brother Kol frequents the Mystic Grille, along with my sister. I'd like to start there."

Elena perks up, "My brother works there!" she tells him, and then she falters, "But the Grille's all the way across town, why don't we just take a car?"

Elijah pauses, as if he's never thought of that, "Well, Miss Gilbert," he smiles down at her, and she blushes under his gaze, "that's a splendid idea." and then he's taking her elbow and leading her to the closest car.

—

Rebekah tilts her head at Damon in amusement, "You look a bit frumpy, Damon." she muses, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

Damon growls at her, running a hand through his mussy hair. They'd crashed in the bed of a truck as soon as darkness had roled around, Stefan between the two of them, because really, he was this close to strangling her. God, he hated all of the Mikaelson's. Thinking they were so much better than everyone else. He turns his nose up at her, looking away.

Rebekah hops out of the bed of the truck, stretching. She looks around the empty street, gun in hand.

Damon elbows Stefan, waking him up, "Wah!" Stefan sputters, shooting up, "Wha' happenin'."

"I'm going to kill your girlfriend." Damon mutters, climbing out of the truck.

Stefan shakes himself awake, standing, "My girlfriend?" he questions, and Rebekah looks over her shoulder at him, winking. "Oh, uh, hey." he scratches at the back of his neck, embarrassed. He's had a crush on Rebekah Mikaelson since the beginning of the school year, but he'd never worked up the courage to ask her out, though he'd heard that she'd liked him as well. Seeing her now, gun in hand, makes him like her just a little bit more.

"Hi, Stefan. Your bedhead is cute." Rebekah says, turning back around, eyes on the street.

Stefan blushes, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, puke." Damon mutters sourly.

Stefan thumps him on the back of the head, "Don't be rude." he mutters,

"Stefan, she's—"

"I don't care if she turns into a zombie and tries to eat you." Stefan growls, then he lowers his voice as Rebekah wanders towards a car across the street, "This zombie apocalypse might be the best thing that ever happened to me. The odds of it being _her _to find us last night were amazing, and _dude,_ she saved your life, by the way, and you will not be your usual trashy self." he reaches out, grabbing Damon's shirt, he pulls his brother forward until they're nose to nose, "You will not fuck up my chances of getting laid by Rebekah Mikaelson, or I'll tell Caroline Forbes, if she's still kicking, that you told the entire football team what color of panties she wears, understand?" he growls.

Damon's eyebrows shoot up, and he jerks away, "Fine, I'll let you bed the hateful hag, but don't come crying to me when she sinks her claws into you and doesn't let go."

He walks away, leaving Stefan alone. The mention of Caroline has him reeling. He hasn't thought about her at all since everything had gone to hell. They'd had a...thing. Before the zombies had shown up. Crawling into each other's windows in the middle of the night, going to movies, going out to dinner, sitting on her rooftop together. And despite what he told everybody, they only slept together once.

He wouldn't admit it, but he liked her for more than her cheerleader-licious body.

Damon sighs, looks out at the empty street and houses before him, and prays she'd made it to safety.

—

Jeremy sits at the counter, pouring himself a shot of vodka.

"Uh, dude? I know you're like, ten times more mature than me, but I know you're not legal to drink." Matt intones from the ground. He's sitting with his legs crossed, color crayons and kids menu from the hostess station in front of him. He finishes up the crossword puzzle as Jeremy turns in his seat.

"Matt, zombies." is all he says before he turns around, knocking back another shot.

"You think your sister's okay?" Tyler asks from across the room. He's pushing on their boarded up windows, making sure they're secure.

Jeremy shrugs, "I hope so." he murmurs, resting his chin on the counter.

"Don't worry, bro." Matt says, standing. He pats Jeremy on the shoulder, "Elena's fine. She's chill. She's probably holed up in your house, sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, waiting for all of this to blow over."

Jeremy smiles weakly, and Tyler chooses not to point out that a zombie apocalypse could never just "blow over".

"I hope you're right, Matt." Jeremy murmurs, eyes on the counter, "I hope you're right."

—

**tbc.**

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**notes:** so this is unedited asdfghjkl but guys 108 reviews are you kidding me i love all of you


	5. Chapter 5

**Saturday Shakedown**

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_(A zombie memoir, in which Matt is the hero and that is all.)_

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—

"OH MY GOD THEY'RE BREAKING IN WHAT DO WE DO SHOULD WE DO SOMETHING TYLER JEREMY ARE YOU LISTENING—" Matt's in hysterics, because the wood the three boys had plastered over the Grille's front door is slowly being stripped away, the glass windows already broken. Tyler has slapped one of his hands over Matt's mouth, the fingers of his other hand massaging his forehead.

"You are a walking_ headache_, Matt Donovan." he growls, "If those things didn't know we were hear before, they do now. Because of your girly ass screaming!"

Matt whimpers, Jeremy balances Tyler's bat over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Guys." he starts, just as Matt wrenches away from Tyler and the pair start bickering.

"Guys." he repeats, a little more urgency in his voice. They continue ignoring him, more interested in slapping at each other than the wood being pulled off of the doors. Jeremy rolls his eyes at the pair before sidestepping them and approaching the door. Matt and Tyler continue to go at it, Tyler growling out threats, Matt pouting, and Jeremy directs his attention to the door, knowing the two behind him will be no help in dealing with whatever's about to come through that door. His heart beats just a little faster, and he grips the bat a little more tightly, ready to go out swinging. The last bit of wood is stripped away, and the Grille's doors slowly inch open.

Instantly, Matt and Tyler quiet down, Tyler pushing Matt further from the door in a last minute effort to protect his best friend. Their bro-ship is sort of endearing, Jeremy thinks.

"Jer?" Matt says, hiding behind Tyler.

"Shhh." Jeremy and Tyler hiss at the same time, just as the door opens fully. It's nighttime, the ending of the second day of the end of the world, and as the door swings in the light wind, Jeremy squints into the darkness, catches a hint of blonde hair, and the glint of metal scraping along the floor as whoever—_whatever_—it is, comes closer.

A second passes. Jeremy's about to pass out. He steps backwards, slapping the bat into Tyler's hands before hiding behind him with Matt.

Matt and Jeremy cower, hearing a low moan of pain, and the Grille's lights flicker. "This would be a great movie opener, you know—" Matt starts, just as Tyler barks out a shocked, "_Caroline?!_"

Matt and Jeremy pop up, take in the bloody cheer uniform, axe, and unwavering smile. "Hi, guys." Caroline murmurs, still beaming, as usual, covered in blood, scraped up, bruised. She grimaces, leaning on one leg a bit more than the other. Jeremy looks down, sees her ankle bent at an odd shape.

"Care," he steps towards her, "your ankle."

"Just a scratch." she mutters, smile finally vanishing, "I'm _sooooo_ glad to see you guys—" before she can finish, she wobbles on her feet, eyes closing for a moment.

Tyler surges forward just as she falls forward. He swings her up into his arms and carries her to the bar, laying her on it. Matt bites his lip, following. The blonde examines her ankle, touching it gingerly. "It's broken." he says finally, grimacing.

"And _how_ do _you_ know?" Tyler asks, crossing his arms over his chest, disbelieving.

"I was a lifeguard last year, I took a couple classes. _Duh._" Matt supplies, rubbing his hands together. "I need some cloth, an apron or something, and a stick, anything we can stabilize her ankle with. Oh, and painkillers. Whatever's in Vicki's locker."

Tyler and Jeremy don't move for a second, staring at each other. Matt's just full of little surprises today, they settle on, exchanging looks before following orders.

—

Elena gasps, nails digging into the passenger seat, screwing her eyes shut. Elijah drives like a mad man, running every walking dead thing on the road down. The Honda they're in is old, and Elijah's much too tall for it, but he'd managed to find a classical CD somewhere in the glove box and was now tapping the wheel to Chopin. He swerves, taking out a old lady dressed in a pink sweatsuit.

_I'm dying today,_ she thinks, blinking one eye open.

"Relax, Ms. Gilbert." Elijah says, taking a sharp turn, "You're _not_ dying today. Have faith."

Elena looks at him, appraises him, "How do you always know what I'm thinking?" She questions, eyebrows lifting.

"I'm very perceptive when it comes to human actions and emotions. Comes in handy when dealing with patients." Elijah had explained his line of work to her earlier. She'd never met a therapist before, but she was glad for him now. She would totally need therapy when this was all over.

"The point here is: you have nothing to fear." Elijah says, looking at her, but maybe more like, looking through her, eyes piercing everything she's ever wondered about herself, everything she's ever—

Like he's looking into her soul.

Immediately, she feels at ease, and relaxes into her seat, closing her eyes, somewhat enjoying the bumpy ride, Elijah's eyes on her the entire time.

—

"I hate you." Bonnie says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"So you say." Kol agrees, "But, you would be zombie fodder right now if it wasn't for me," he grins at her before turning down main street.

"Are you asking me to be grateful?" Bonnie questions, casting her eyes around the dark street, "Because that's not going to—"

"If I was going to ask you, of all people, anything, I would have asked you out to dinner." he waves his hand as her mouth drops open, "But there's no time for such things now. However, in place of that, I'd like to ask you something else. In exchange for saving your life, I'd like you to help me find my sister. In the rare event that we _do_ make it through the rest of the week and we _do_ find her, Rebekah and I will help you find your friends." he stops the truck on the side of the road, looks at her closely.

Bonnie supposes she's not going to get a better deal, and even though a part of her is telling her to get out of the truck and go back for Caroline, she nods, agreeing. "Okay, I'll help you."

"Excellent." Kol grins, starting the truck, "And we'll get to dinner later, yes?"

He winks as Bonnie's cheeks tinge red.

—

Stefan, Rebekah, and himself are awesome, Damon decides. They'd been taking their time all day, strolling down the streets, not a care in the world. Rebekah's vindictiveness when it came to zombie killing was growing on him, and he could practically see the hearts in his brother's eyes whenever Stefan looked at the blonde.

It was disgusting.

But anyway, they were close to the Grille, just a couple blocks away. Darkness had already fallen, and they'd broken into a coffee shop for the night. Stefan and Rebekah are off doing god knows what, and Damon is alone, staring into the fire they'd started in the kitchen.

_All alone,_ he thinks. There was one person he'd never felt alone around, and she was blonde and perky and annoying and possibly dead.

But he didn't want to think about that. At least not yet. Not until he'd found her body, or he had to put a bullet in her head.

_She's alive,_ he tells himself.

(And she is. For now.)

—

**tbc.**

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**a/n:** uh hahaha look it's an update don't kill me pls


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